


does this count as a playdate?

by verecundiam



Series: kept promises [2]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I don’t know what this is, Very Very Minor Injuries, all happy endings tho, all platonic obviously, ch1 is mostly fun, ch2 gets a bit angstier, help I can’t write british ppl, he’s so concerned about them all, i don’t swear so tommy gets conveniently interrupted every time he tries like it’s a cartoon, it’s very incomprehensible but I needed to get the idea out, mostly philza pov, muffinteers-centric but everything’s sbi pov (for the most part), no beta we die like dsmp members in lava, so much dadza!!, this is mostly shenanigans but I alluded to some later angst, you get a bonding moment! you get a bonding moment! everyone gets a bonding moment!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:01:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27964220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verecundiam/pseuds/verecundiam
Summary: “Is it okay if I send Dream our coordinates?” Techno asks nonchalantly one evening, as though that isn’t the single most surprising sentence that Philza’s heard all week. (Second place goes toDad, we got Tommy stuck in the cabinets again.Again? Why again? How many times have you two been putting him in the cabinets?)(aka, the muffinteers and sbi found family crossover episode. I highly recommend you read the first fic before this one, but you don’t have to)
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Dave | Technoblade, GeorgeNotFound & Wilbur Soot, Phil Watson & Everyone, TommyInnit & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: kept promises [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2039066
Comments: 64
Kudos: 677





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> once again, this is an au of the dream smp characters, NOT the real people !!!! 
> 
> this takes place a few months after the tournament in the original fic ! Bad is 18, Wilbur and George are both 16 going on 17 (haha), Techno and Dream are both 14, Sapnap is 12, and Tommy is 9.

“Is it okay if I send Dream our coordinates?” Techno asks nonchalantly one evening, as though that isn’t the single most surprising sentence that Philza’s heard all week. (Second place goes to _Dad, we got Tommy stuck in the cabinets again._ Again? Why again? How many times have you two been putting him in the cabinets?)

“Yeah, of course it is,” Phil manages. 

“Cool. We want to fight again.”

“I figured,” Phil says, because if them being rivals is what it takes to get Techno a few more friends, then so be it. “Just make sure he brings his people with him, it’s a long journey to take alone.”

\------------

 _“DAD, TECHNO’S RIVAL-FRIEND-GUY IS HERE,”_ Phil hears Tommy shout from outside. 

Quickly, Phil steps out the door of their hilltop house, genial smile prepared. The group of four is gathered in a clump, talking to his three children. He recognizes BadBoyHalo from years of assorted tournaments and competitions, his shadow-dark features standing out in the pale morning sunlight. Dream and… something with a G, right? From archery? are talking to Techno and Wilbur, laughing at something or other, and Tommy has his hands on his hips in front of the kid with the headband. 

The second they see him, there’s a moment of brief hesitation in the friendly conversation, and his own children turn around to greet him, smile at him, shout something at him, while the four newcomers just sort of—stop. BadBoyHalo takes a single, careful step forward, and the other three take a single step back, shifting behind him. He holds out a clawed hand, and Philza takes it, tries to shake it in the most reassuring way he can muster, because he recognizes the hesitation in their eyes, the careful way that they’re tense without meaning to be. 

They’re all very young, he realizes, in that distant sort of way that means he knew this but had never really registered it before. He supposes he’d hoped for—oh, he doesn’t know. Some new family member to pop up out of the woodwork, someone that’s actually an adult, someone that’s actually been taking care of them in the years they’ve been in his periphery. 

But they’re just teenagers and children, and he hates that he recognizes their trepidation so, so clearly—it’s the same trepidation that was in Wil’s stubbornly crossed arms and Techno’s silence, in the early months, so long ago. Years ago. And Tommy was found far too young to really know any other family but the three of them, but Phil swears he sometimes sees that same hesitation in his eyes even now. 

“DreamandIareleavingnowbyeeeee.” Techno, ever-attuned to the awkwardness in any given situation, grabs Dream’s arm and drags him in the direction of the forest surrounding their hilltop home. 

Phil chuckles. “It’s good to meet you all,” he says to the remaining guests with all the sincerity he can muster. 

“Well, ah, same,” BadBoyHalo nods with a small smile, and gestures behind him. “Uh, this is George and Sapnap.” George shifts his weight, and it’s impossible to tell where he’s looking underneath the tinted goggles. Sapnap waves, before quickly pulling his hand back down. Phil waves back, and the kid looks so surprised that Phil has to hold back laughter. 

“And you’re BadBoyHalo, right? Seen you around quite a bit.” 

“Yep, that’s me! You can just call me Bad, though, it’s a lot less of a mouthful.” 

“Sounds good to me,” Phil counts that as a win in his book. Okay. Next— “Would you like to come inside?”

“No, no, nonono, Sapnap’s coming with me,” Tommy sneers up at Sapnap. “He thinks he’s faster than me and I think that that’s stupid.”

“I’m literally twice your height and your age, dude,” Sapnap smirks. 

“There’s no way you’re eighteen!”

“You’re _nine?_ I thought you were like, six!” 

“ _No!_ Oh I’m gonna—” 

“Have fun,” Philza interrupts. 

“Oh, I will,” Tommy says through gritted teeth, and stomps off in the direction of the forest, opposite of the way that Techno pulled Dream in. Sapnap shrugs, and follows.

“Can I steal George, then?” Wilbur raises a hand. “If we’re all stealing people then I want George.” 

“I feel objectified,” George says to no one in particular. 

“Good,” Wilbur nods, “that’s because I’m objectifying you. Now, how do you feel about music?”

“It’s alright I guess,” George lets himself be pulled around the side of the house with little resistance or effort on his part. 

“Well, I’m hoping to change your mind.” 

And then Phil and Bad are left standing in front of the house, the only sounds being the faint strumming of Wil’s guitar and Tommy’s distant, desperate screams. 

“Well, would _you_ like to come inside?” Phil asks Bad with a smirk. 

“Gladly,” Bad laughs. 

\------------

Something that Techno can appreciate about Dream is something that he and Techno share. They’re both good at just getting right to the point. 

And today, the point is that they’re sparring. Because really, they’re rivals, and this is the kind of fight neither of them can get with anyone else. So that’s why, no questions asked, Dream already has his axe in his hand as Techno unsheaths his sword. 

And, well, if maybe they exhaust themselves after a long while, and if maybe they climb up into a tree because Dream insists _“it’s always better up high, trust me”_ then that’s that. And if maybe Techno goes on about Bellerophon and hubris for a little too long, and if maybe Dream spends a little too much time talking about extremely specific strategies for a game he wants to play, well—that’s nobody’s business but their own. 

\------------

“Agh, and they’re always so loud, all the time, even just, like, normal speaking volume—”

“Exactly!”

“Okay, okay,” Wilbur laughs. “Have you ever been woken up in the morning by a child pouncing on you with an axe?”

“Isn’t that every morning?” And George looks so tired that Wilbur just _cackles._

\------------

“Is it just the four of you?” Phil asks. 

“Sure is,” Bad nods, as he lets Phil guide him to the living room couch. “Is it just the four of _you?_ ” he asks, with the briefest flash of a cheeky smile. 

Phil laughs. “Yep. We’ve got some neighbors a few hours away—Tommy and Wilbur’s friends—but it’s just our little hill.”

“It’s lovely. Did you build it?”

“With my own two hands,” Phil grins. “I do what I must for my family, even if it means enduring a truly horrific amount of splinters.”

“I can imagine,” Bad chuckles, and then he softens. “Did you adopt them all?”

“Never could say no to small children,” Phil smiles, and it’s a simplification of the whole thing, but that’s honestly what it boils down to. Perpetual loner and adventurer turned stay-at-home father by the puppy-dog eyes of a few little kids.

“That’s very kind of you.”

“Seems like you’ve done something very similar,” Phil raises his eyebrows meaningfully. 

“Oh,” Bad laughs, “No, no. I’m no parent. We—we raised each other, more than anything else. I was twelve, I didn’t do all that much.” 

“I beg to differ,” Phil says. “I mean, I agree that you’re not a parent, goodness knows I’d be concerned if you were—” and Bad chokes a little before laughing again— “but you definitely did something, because I’m pretty sure those kids think you hung the moon and stars. Maybe the sun, too, while we’re at it. A few clouds. A couple more celestial bodies. Maybe the Nether. Ooooh, the End, too—”

“Okay, okay,” Bad throws up his hands in mock surrender, and Phil’s a teensy-bit worried for a second that he’s gone too far with the bit, but Bad’s smiling at him, so instead he counts it as a win for proper socialization skills. 

“I mean it,” Phil insists. 

“I do too,” Bad insists right back, a flash of a kind of stubbornness that Phil can admire. “I’m the—the caretaker, I guess, but we raised each other.”

“I get that,” Phil says, and he thinks he actually does—something about how he’s so much softer now that he’s got kids to look after, stronger and weaker all at once, but undeniably better. 

\------------

“You’re bad at this,” Sapnap tuts, easily keeping his tight grip on Tommy’s arm. Tommy ceases his fruitless struggling and sputtering for a single second, just enough to catch Sapnap off-guard, before he wrenches his arm away. The painful stinging is worth the success. 

“Haha, I’m free! Take that, b—”

“Aren’t you—I dunno, bored?” Sapnap raises an eyebrow at him. Tommy scoffs. Of course he’s not. He’s gotta prove that he’s faster than this jerk, yeah? Ignoring the past fifteen and a half rounds of tag, he’s never lost! 

...Okay. So _maybe_ it is getting a little boring. Only a little, though!

“You can’t prove anything,” is what Tommy ends up saying. 

“Alright, cool. I’ve got an idea for something better. Dream and I played this a ton when we were all short and whatever like you are.”

“Hey!”

“Hide and Seek But Epic. You hide, I seek, except we have wooden weapons, there are no limits to where you hide, and threats, blackmail, and screaming are all perfectly legal.”

“Hmmm… okay,” Tommy refuses to sound like he’s actually very, very interested in this new game, “how do I win?” 

“Either you hide for so long I give up, or I find you, and we spar, and the winner is whoever wins the spar.”

“Awesome.”

\------------

“I—ow—I’m, sorry, sir. I thought uh, I thought it would be fine.” Sapnap winces as Philza tightens the bandage he’s wrapping around his forearm. It’s just the two of them inside, Phil had to kick Tommy back outside a few minutes ago since he just would not stop laughing at the shallow scratch—apparently, from Tommy executing a move that Techno taught him, called ‘kicking someone into a ditch.’ 

“What do you mean?” Phil chuckles. “It _was_ fine. You’re the one injured, not me or Tommy. Also, please don’t call me ‘sir.’”

“Um—then, uh, what am I supposed to call you?”

“How about ‘Phil?’” Phil raises a brow, moving over to look the kid in his wide, dark eyes. 

“That’s. Um. That’s really weird, sir,” says Sapnap, and he sort of... half-laughs and half-chokes. 

“Y’know what else is weird?”

“...What?”

“Being called ‘sir,’” Phil lets his expression go flat, and the kid laughs before he can stop himself. 

\------------

“You want cookies?” Phil easily flies up to the rooftop, landing lightly on two feet. 

“More than anything in this world or the next,” Wilbur says from where he’s flopped upside-down on the slanted roof. 

“Sure,” George shrugs, apparently attempting to reclaim his dignity by looking like he was not also upside-down a few seconds ago. 

“Good, come help me make them.”

\------------

“Oh, this is a mistake,” Bad’s eyes widen once he sees the Wilbur and George combo in the kitchen. “You should know that we’ve banned George from cooking. For his safety, and everybody else’s.” 

“It’ll be fine,” Phil waves it off.

\------------

It’s not fine, but it is really, _really_ funny. 

\------------

“D’you think they’re still out beating the crap out of each other?” Sapnap cocks his head in the direction of the forest, where Techno and Dream had vanished hours before. 

“Of course they are,” Bad says. 

Everyone else had made their way back to the house, whether by way of injury (Tommy and Sapnap) or bribe (Wilbur and George), leaving only the rivals still out.

“We should run after them. Try and catch ‘em off-guard and strike, but actually we’re just there to tell them to come back,” Tommy offers, only a little aggressively. 

“They’ll definitely take that as a challenge,” Wilbur shakes his head. “We won’t see them for weeks.”

“I’ve got it,” Sapnap grins. He takes a deep breath, and by sheer instinct, Bad and George shove their hands over their ears. “WE HAVE PARTIALLY-SUCCESSFUL COOKIES! COME GET IT! UP AND AT ‘EM, COME ON, ON!” 

And then, distantly, Dream’s voice shouting back—

_“WHAT DO YOU MEAN, PARTIALLY-SUCCESSFUL?”_

“YOU’LL HAVE TO COME AND FIND OUT!”

It only takes a few seconds for Dream to come jogging out of the forest, Techno not far behind. They’re both covered in small scratches and bruises that neither seem to notice at all, and are otherwise unharmed, although there is a stick caught in Dream’s hood. 

“Please. What in the world is a partially-successful cookie?” Techno asks, sounding pained. 

Gleefully, Sapnap holds up a mildly-undercooked, mildly-burned, but mostly-edible snickerdoodle. 

“Huh.”

“I mean. Yeah, I would call that partially successful,” Dream says, somewhat mystified. “What kind of science project was this?”

“Phil let George into the kitchen,” Bad explains. 

“Ohhhhhhhh. Wait, why is the house still standing?”

“I’m not a complete and total failure,” Wilbur raises a hand. “I think it balanced out.” 

“I’m highly offended, I shall never recover,” George sighs. 

“I think the first part of what you said was wrong, actually,” Tommy offers. 

“Is he that bad?” Techno raises an eyebrow in George’s direction.

“Most definitely,” Bad nods.

“Is he Tommy-level bad, though? ‘Cause I seem to remember a series of housefires—”

“Hey, now, that was perfectly fine! It was!”

“—Not to mention that he isn’t really tall enough for most of the appliances—”

Tommy sputters. “Oh, what the shi—” 

“Language,” all four of the guests say, simultaneously, Bad looking scandalized and the other three with perfectly deadpan expressions. Phil, just now exiting the house with flour still dusted all over his clothes, graciously ignores Wilbur having a seizure in the grass as he comes upon the gathered group. 

“Food,” he says simply, and that’s all it takes for them to come thundering inside. 

\------------

They find themselves, as the sun sets, gathered around the campsite at the base of the hill. Partially because Dream wanted to show it off to Techno, and partially because it’s actually an impressively-built campsite. 

Wilbur gently strums his guitar and hums some folk song or other while Techno hands out potatoes to roast, and Bad tries desperately to keep Tommy and Sapnap from setting something on fire as George and Dream egg them on.

Phil accepts an offered potato from Techno with a smile, even though he’s pretty sure that roasting them over an open fire is not how potatoes work. He shoves it on the end of a stick anyway and puts it into the fire. listening to the ambience of soft music and banter and shouting, he smiles.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> do I know how snowstorms work? no ! are they good narrative tools for fluffy fanfic ? absolutely !

“Woah,” Tommy breathes, pressing his forehead against the half-frozen glass. His breath fogs up the windowpane. 

“That’s a lotta snow,” Techno winces. He really, really hates winter. Wilbur lightly pats his head in sympathy, but Techno swats his hand away. He glances back outside, at the falling snow slowly gathering speed and ferocity. They don’t normally get this much snow in a year, much less a day. 

And—and Techno realizes something. A heavy, nervous feeling settles in his chest. “Hey, uh, Phil?”

Phil hums in response from where he’s trying to stoke their fire. The cold is creeping at the edges of the house, and their fireplace is the only thing keeping it at bay.

“Uh. Well. Um.” If he’s wrong about this, Dream won’t ever let him live it down. But if he’s right… “I’m pretty sure Dream and his friends… like, live outside.” 

Phil freezes. “I’m sorry, what?” 

“Like. Uh. I don’t think they have a house? Dream mentioned, uh, a permanent campsite type of place. Said if I ever wanted to come over that I was supposed to look for old towers?” Techno shrugs, but he thinks his voice betrays his new sense of worry, because Phil walks over immediately to look out the window next to him. 

“They wouldn’t be prepared for this kind of weather,” Phil realizes. “Ice, maybe, and a few inches of snow, but not a snowstorm of this magnitude. Can you message Dream?”

“He’s not answering. D’you think—”

“I don’t know. I can’t fly in this weather, either way. We’ll have to wait.”

“You—but you’ll go? And, and just check to make sure?” 

“Of course,” Phil nods, and Techno relaxes minutely. Phil’s going to go. He’s going to make sure they’re okay. They’re probably fine. They’re fine. And if they’re not, Phil will help. Okay! Okay. Okay. 

\------------

It’s a long time before the snow lightens enough for Phil to fly. Techno gets jitterier with every passing hour, and it’s all Phil can do to keep repeating that he’ll leave as soon as he can. 

Techno denies being anxious at all, of course, but Phil raised him. He knows. He knows it in the way that Techno taps his foot, tap-tap-tap, just a bit too fast to the soft strumming of Wilbur’s guitar. (It keeps messing Wil up, and he’s starting to get frustrated.) He knows it in the way that he keeps glancing out the window, over and over again, even though there’s nothing to see but sheets of white. 

And he knows it in the way that Techno sighs with unintended relief when the snowfall slows enough that it’s safe for Philza to fly without hurting his feathered wings. 

“I’ll be back soon,” Phil says, slinging a light backpack of simple supplies over one shoulder. He opens the door and winces at the sudden sharp wind in his face, and at the thick snow partially blocking the doorway, half a meter up. 

“You’d better,” Tommy crosses his arms, tense in a way that means he’s just as worried as Techno. 

“Wilbur, you’re in charge,” and Phil grins at the lighthearted groans that gets from two of his sons, and the quiet cheer from his oldest. 

“See you soon,” Wilbur smiles. Wilbur’s worried too, but he’s always been better at hiding it. Phil’s never been able to tell if that’s a good thing or not. 

“See you soon.”

\------------

Philza is _immediately_ freezing cold. Their hilltop is coated in brilliant white, and it’s nearly blinding to look at from as high up as he is. It doesn’t take long for light snow to start gathering in his hair and eyelashes, catching on his feathers, in the brim of his hat. 

He knows, vaguely, the direction he’s going. 

_Look for old towers._

What would be a week’s journey on foot is a day’s journey in the air, assisted by helpful drafts leftover from the storm. By the time that Phil spots the snow-laden towers, he’s exhausted and sore and frozen to the bone even beneath his winter gear, but—well, time is of the essence. 

He lands himself somewhat shakily in the center of some expansive stone ruins, littered with falling towers and broken columns and eroded, crumbling walls. He’d think it was abandoned, if it weren’t so obviously inhabited. 

Scattered chests, taped children’s drawings, wanted posters, scrawlings on the walls, a clothesline with the hanging clothes frozen completely solid. It’s all evidence that there should be someone here. 

It’s quiet. 

The wind is frigid, and as it blows through Phil’s hair and feathers, he is reminded once again that time is of the essence. 

If they aren’t here, they must be somewhere else. Occam’s razor. 

He takes off.

\------------

Some ways away from the ruins, he sees a little splotch of lime green, the only bright color for miles around. Bingo.

Immediately he comes to an abrupt stop some distance away, letting the snow soften his landing. He folds his wings behind him and walks the rest of the way. 

“Hey,” he calls, and Dream whips around. 

“What’re you—Philza?” The kid gapes. Phil comes closer, and he can see that he’s in some kind of coat, at least—thinner than Phil would like, but at least it’s not a sweatshirt. His hood’s up, dusted with snow, and his mask is firmly on his face, unblemished. He’s definitely shivering, but he barely seems to notice. 

“Hey there, kid,” Phil reaches a hand towards him, and Dream flinches, violently. Phil pulls his hand back just as quickly. Stupid. Dream’s clearly scared, Phil has to be a bit more careful than that. 

“Why’re you—how—how did you—” 

“Techno was worried,” Phil explains. “Don’t tell him I said that, though.” 

Dream laughs, incredulous, and reaches with a trembling hand to pull at a tuft of sandy hair sticking out of his hood. “I’m okay, I’m fine, I’m not the one you need to worry about—”

Clearly incorrect, but Phil doesn’t say anything. 

“—I just, I just, I can’t find any of them. We got—we got separated in the storm, it wasn’t—we were heading to town for cover, ‘s not like they like us there or anything but it’s better than all out in the open,” Dream grips his arms tightly, backing away from Phil. “But it was—it came on so fast, we didn’t—we couldn’t—I just—one second they were all there, and then they—and then they weren’t. I got to a cave to wait it out, but I don’t know where anyone is.” he finishes quietly. “So I’ve, uh, I’ve gotta go, tell Techno I’m fine.” 

“Kid. Dream,” Phil reaches out a hand again, out of instinct, and whip-fast he pulls it back. “I’m not going to just leave you to freeze to death out here.”

“It’s not—you shouldn’t have to do that,” Dream seems to curl inward on himself. 

“Well, I’m going to anyway, so you get to deal with my lovely presence.” Phil smiles. “Do you remember where you lost them?”

“I think Sapnap fell or something, we were running, Bad was really far ahead and George was behind me and we couldn’t really see, so… no,” Dream shrugs, still hunched, but at least he’s accepting Phil’s help. “I’ve been looking for a while, and I’ve tried yelling, and just… nothing.” 

“Okay. I think the best thing I can do is fly up, see if I can find any signs of anyone,” Phil says, and Dream nods hesitantly. “I’ve been flying too long today to carry you, so you’ll have to be the eyes on the ground.” Dream nods again—less hesitant, it seems, with something to do. 

Phil launches himself into the air, keeping one eye on the green splotch in the snow, and another scanning the wintry forest ahead. 

\------------

He’s nearly startled out of the air when he hears a faint cry from down below. He sends himself to the ground as quickly as he can, quick enough to see Dream launch himself towards a smaller shape standing in the forest. 

Further investigation—by that, Phil means walking a little bit closer—reveals that it’s Sapnap that Dream has in a death grip. He’s gripping Dream back just as tightly, whispering _“I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay”_ into Dream’s coat, and other than his half-frozen hair, gloveless fingers, and incessant shivering, he does look okay. 

“Good to see that you’re alright,” Phil offers once they untangle themselves from their relieved, spur-of-the-moment hug. 

“What—sir? I mean, Phil? What’re you doing here?” Sapanap gasps. 

“I’m on a rescue mission,” Phil grins, and Sapnap rolls his eyes, but smiles back anyway. 

“What happened?” Dream worriedly takes off one of his gloves and gives it to Sapnap, who puts it on his right hand, and then grabs Dream’s hand in his left. 

Sheepishly, Sapnap reaches into his pocket with his free hand and takes out a flint and steel. 

“Just in case,” he says quietly. Dream laughs, soft and incredulous, and tightens his grip on Sapnap’s hand. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Unlike Dream, apparently, Phil needs a bit clearer of an explanation than that. 

“I, uh, found a hollow tree to hide in and I just kept burning any dry sticks and stuff I found to stay warm.” 

“Ah. That’ll work. Didn’t breathe in too much smoke, did you?”

“Nope, there was too much wind. Was all I could do to keep it burning for a lot of the time.” 

“Okay,” Phil turns to Dream. “Ready to keep going, then?” Two down, two to go.

“Ready,” Dream says, still looking frozen and scared, but steadier now that he has Sapnap’s hand in his.

Once again, Phil launches himself into the sky. 

\------------

It’s nearly an hour before Phil can see any signs of life outside of the green and black splotches of color below him. It’s instinct more than anything else that brings him circling over the large, crumbled bit of earth that begins to darken into some kind of cavern far below. These kinds of holes are common enough, but dangerous, too—goodness knows Phil’s had to dig his way out of a few himself. And in the snow…

He lands a few meters away from the edge, hearing the crunching of boots behind him as Dream and Sapnap rush to catch up. 

“What’d you see?” Dream asks.

“Just a bad feeling,” Phil murmurs. He steps closer to the edge, wary that the snowfall might make the opening seem smaller than it really is. “Hello? Anyone down there?”

His voice echoes over the stone. For a second, there’s no response, and he thinks he might be wrong—

“Uh… maybe,” a tinny voice calls back, weakly. 

“George!” Dream gasps, at the same time that Sapnap shouts “that’s George—”

“Are you alright?” Phil tests the ground with his foot before leaning further over the edge, trying to spot him.

“Mostly, yeah. Uh, twisted my ankle or something, and it’s _cold,_ but I’m good.” 

Phil’s not too sure about that one, but he’ll take that George is talking and awake enough to be aware of his surroundings. The looming threat of hypothermia can be figured out later, once he’s out of the pit. 

Phil stretches out his wings, and they twinge unhappily. He’s getting a workout today, that’s for sure. Meh, he probably needed one. 

“I can’t carry him very far, but if I lift him out of the hole, can you guys grab his arms?” He turns to the kids, and they nod, solemn and concerned. 

Okay. It’s probably not the best plan, but it’s the best that Phil can come up with while he’s freezing and sore, and time is of the essence. All of these kids have been out here too long already. 

He easily glides down to the ledge that George is sitting on, leaned heavily against the stone wall. One of his legs is hugged close to him, and the other juts out at an awkward angle in the snow. He’s worryingly pale and violently shivering, but at least has the energy to wave at Philza with a gloved hand as he lands. The worst part is that he looks soaking wet, probably from the heavy fall straight into the thick snow. 

“Just let me do the hard work, alright?” Phil steps forward, holding out a hand. The kid takes it and lets Phil pull him into a standing position, ensuring there’s no weight put onto his injured ankle. “Ready or not?” And he doesn’t give George the chance to reply before he hooks his arms underneath George’s shoulders and drags them both into the air. 

He manages to make it a few feet above the edge of the hole before gravity starts to pull at him, and he shouts _“NOW!”_ and then—as best as he can—throws George in the direction of Dream and Sapnap, waiting, hands outstretched. 

Dream grabs one arm and Sapnap grabs the other, and George lands against the ledge with a _whoomph,_ but they can easily pull him up the rest of the way. Phil just makes sure that he lands on his feet before letting his wings droop, falling against the trunk of a tree. 

Blinking, Phil can see George on his knees in the snow be rushed by Sapnap and Dream. George doesn’t do anything, just rests his head against Dream’s coat and takes a few deep, shuddering breaths, lets Sapnap jokingly complain about how wet he is even as he hugs him tighter, lets Dream fuss over the snow caked on his shoulders and knees. 

Three safe, one more to go. Almost there. 

Dream and Sapnap maneuver themselves to be on either side of George and pull him up out of the snow, letting him use them as lopsided crutches. Dream looks up at Phil, and Phil’s something of an expert at reading the emotions of kids who hide their faces, but he’s never wished more that he could see someone’s expression. 

“Thank you,” Dream says. “You can—you don’t have to stay anymore. I think we can find Bad on our own. You should—you’ve already done way, way too much.” 

Phil looks at them—three shivering kids with nothing but two pairs of gloves and a flint and steel between them, propping up the oldest in the middle, with nowhere to go but a home exposed to the elements or a village they’re nearly unwelcome in—and just shakes his head, slow and insistent. 

“Nonsense,” he says, and, stepping out of the tree cover, flies up without another word. 

\------------

Bad’s doing okay, all things considered. It is, of course, freezing cold, and there is, of course, the looming anxiety that everyone he loves is freezing to death after they got separated in the storm, but other than that, he’s good!

He knows a thing or two about survival. Has to. So after a lot of screaming names and getting nothing back but a sore throat, his first priority was shelter. Hence, this cave.

What he didn’t realize, probably because snow leads to some very limited vision, was that his shallow cave is at the bottom of an incline. 

The entrance began filling up with snow very quickly, and Bad’s been blocked off ever since. 

On one hand, this is kind of good! Because it insulates the cave very well, actually, so he’s not really in danger of freezing to death. Mostly. On the other hand, he has no idea what’s going on outside.

(And no one will be able to find him if they can’t even see the entrance.)

He’s been careful about falling asleep, because good ol’ hypothermia is always a possibility, but he has no way of knowing how long he’s been holed up in this stupid cave—at least a few hours, maybe a day. If he’s lucky, long enough for the snowstorm to stop. He just—doesn’t know for sure. 

His gloves are thin, knitted—not exactly waterproof. He won’t get far digging out with his hands. Maybe a boot? His sock will get kind of wet on the stony ground, but it won’t be as wet as shoving his hand into a pile of fresh snow, that’s for sure. 

His course of action decided, Bad pulls off one of his boots, and with a wince, lets his foot touch the damp stone. 

He aims the boot toward the wall of snow, heel first, and swings. He takes a chip out of it. Another swing. A chunk, this time. Another swing. He makes a fist-sized dent. Another swing. 

\------------

Eventually, the boot stops being quite so helpful. But his dent has grown to a sizable hole in the snow—maybe enough for him to start digging upward. He takes the boot by the heel and starts chipping away at the top of the hole, grateful that the farther he goes, the less icy the snow seems to be, getting softer and powderier. He’s getting closer. 

\------------

An indeterminate amount of time later—Bad’s been staring at nothing but snow for a long time—his poor boot heel actually manages to breach the surface. 

“Yes!” he whispers, and his breath fogs the air in front of him. He punches his arm through the small hole and widens it, then his other arm, and then the hole’s big enough for his shoulders, and then he can maneuver himself through it to lay back in the snow. The wind already starts to sting his nose and cheeks, but the sun is pale and bright behind thin gray clouds, and he’s _out._

He sits up. Okay! Okay! Now his, his friends, family, whatever—oh goodness, they could be anywhere. If they’re lucky, they made it to the village, but the last thing Bad remembers of the storm is hearing Sapnap cry out, Dream’s voice screaming, fading, and screaming back until he doesn’t have a voice anymore. 

Oh! Right. “Test, test,” and he coughs, but it’s not painful or overly hoarse. Cool. Okay. 

Okay. They’re smart, they’re survivors, goodness knows how long they were all on their own before they found each other. All four of them are freakishly good at beating the odds. He’ll just—he’ll just head toward the village. Maybe they’ll meet him there. Maybe it’s fine! It could be fine. And if it’s not fine, then it will be, because Bad’s going to make sure of it. 

\------------

Bad’s about halfway through the forest and berating his single wet sock when he hears voices. He freezes, pulling himself behind the thick trunk of a tree. 

“Ugh, work with us a little? C’mon—”

“Oh, yes, because _limping_ in snow nearly up to my _knees_ is plausible—” 

“Dragging you isn’t exactly easier—”

Bad smiles and steps out from behind the tree. He knows those voices. 

A rush of wind and a scattering of snow powder reveals—is that _Philza?_ Yeah, it is Philza, wearing thick winter gear, snow glittering in the brim of his striped bucket hat. His wings are outstretched as he lands, and Dream turns to him and says something that Bad can’t hear, shaking his head. Phil just smiles, raises a brow, and points towards Bad. 

Dream whips around to look, and freezes. He digs his elbow into George’s ribs, pushing him into Sapnap who nearly gets bowled over, and sprints towards Bad at full speed. 

He gets an armful of blonde teenager and nearly falls backward, but instead he just grips him back, and then he’s joined by Sapnap, still small enough to fit in between them, and then Bad holds an arm out for George, slower, limping off of one ankle. 

Relief floods him, and his knees nearly buckle right then and there. One, two, three, all of them are here and alive and safe. Bad holds his shaking, half-frozen little brothers in his arms, and he looks up at Philza and mouths _thank you._

Philza only smiles and shakes his head. 

\------------

“No, really,” Bad says, and Philza looks up from where he’s laying out his coat and hat to dry in front of the fire. “Thank you.”

With all four of them found and decidedly alive, they’d ultimately decided to head for the village. It was the closest shelter, and, _“even the villagers won’t let us freeze to death,”_ according to Bad. He was right enough—they have a room in the inn until the snows melt. 

Everyone but the two of them had already piled onto one of the beds, buried underneath as many blankets as they could find—to combat the possible hypothermia that Phil was _certain_ had to be setting in by then. Even Bad, still up and sitting by the fire, has two blankets across his shoulders. Phil had only denied one for the sake of letting his wings warm up by the fire. 

“You and Dream both,” Phil chuckles and shakes his head, resisting the urge to reach out and ruffle Bad’s hair like he would one of his own boys. 

“What? I’m telling the truth!”

“No, no, just—you have to understand, this was—I didn’t fly all the way out here because it would be any trouble, Bad. We were worried about you all, and that worry was founded.”

“Still,” Bad insists. “Just—okay. Okay, how about this. If you guys are ever in trouble, you _have_ to call us to help.”

“Wouldn’t you come to help anyway?” Phil says, grinning slyly.

“Of _course!”_ Bad rolls his eyes, and Phil’s grin widens, “But this is making sure that you tell us when it happens. Deal?”

“Fine, fine,” Phil laughs. “Deal.”

“Great! Okay!” Satisfied, Bad settles back in the simple chair in front of the fire, pulling the blankets closer around him.

“You could probably go to bed with the others, you know. You’ve been out in the snow all day.”

“So have you,” Bad shoots back, smiling lightly but not looking away from the flames, reflected in his pale eyes. 

“Fair enough.”

\------------

Phil makes it home the next day, after giving his wings (and by extension, his shoulders) a while to rest after what ended up being, essentially, two straight days of flying. 

He’s met with at least eight misshapen snowmen and one very impressive one, five different snow forts in various states of collapse, and all three of his children in a snowball fight to the death in their front yard. 

_“DAD, CATCH!”_ Tommy screeches, and a snowball is launched directly towards his face. Phil catches it easily. 

“Everyone’s alive,” Phil shouts to Techno, who’s taken cover around the side of the house, before turning back to Tommy. “And you’ve just made a fatal mistake.” With a vicious grin, he throws the snowball at full force right back at his son.

_“Get him!”_ Wilbur roars, and chaos breaks loose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you all enjoyed <3 the support this series has gotten means a lot to me !


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